Monday, June 27, 2022


We must take 
some vague, sadistic 
pleasure in discrepancy;

for our birth 
is accorded the mantle 
of a miracle, 

while death 
is shunned and suspect, 
despite its equal mystery. 

And all the wedding guests 
are impressed 
by the ice sculpture, 

even as they mill about 
and fret 
about the ice caps,

and sigh into their 
plastic cups, and cluck their
tongues at one another. 

It's as if our expectations 
were the province 
of magicians, 

since the place from which 
our strange assurance 
so winningly emerges 

is often the same 
empty cage 
into which 

the audience 
just watched our dismay
get inserted.